


God Only Knows. . .

by Niamh



Series: Originsverse [5]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-14
Updated: 2012-06-14
Packaged: 2017-11-07 18:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niamh/pseuds/Niamh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a one-shot, set in the Originsverse, sometime between Christmas and Valentine’s day, while Buffy is pregnant with the twins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	God Only Knows. . .

  
**_God Only Knows. . .  
  
I may not always love you  
But long as there are stars above you  
You never need to doubt it  
I’ll make you so sure about it  
  
God only knows what I’d be without you  
  
If you should ever leave me  
Though life would still go on believe me  
The world could show nothing to me  
So what good would living do me  
  
God only knows what I’d be without you  
  
God only knows what I’d be without you  
  
If you should ever leave me  
Well life would still go on believe me  
The world could show nothing to me  
So what good would living do me  
  
God only knows what I’d be without you  
  
God only knows what I’d be without you  
God only knows  
God only knows what I’d be without you  
God only knows what I’d be without you  
God only knows  
God only knows what I’d be without you  
God only knows what I’d be without you  
God only knows  
God only knows what I’d be without you  
God only knows what I’d be without you  
God only knows  
God only knows what I’d be without you  
God only knows what I’d be without you  
God only knows  
God only knows what I’d be without you  
God only knows what I’d be without you  
God only knows  
God only knows what I’d be without you  
_**  
  
  
It was late, the part of night when daylight seems so far away and darkness is absolute.  Only one creature was stirring in the house on Revello Drive, and he was only up because these were his hours, his time to be wide awake and roaming.  Spike moved on silent feet through the house, checking to make sure all the doors and windows were locked.  Satisfied, he took the stairs two at a time, listening as the house settled around him.  
  
Connor’s rumbling and talking in his sleep countered Dawn’s quiet.  They’d tried a couple of things to get him to settle down, but although the nightmares had eased, Connor still had them from time to time.  He stopped at Dawn’s bedroom door, leaning against it, checking on her heartbeat.  Low, barely imperceptible snores echoed in her quiet room and he shook his head, smiling to himself.  Though they all knew the truth now, it was still something of a miracle to him.  Every day he saw more and more evidence that Dawn was his child.   
  
Still shaking his head over the marvel of it all, Spike headed for the bathroom.  He’d run into a particularly smelly demon on patrol and he knew his love wouldn’t exactly appreciate him not showering before joining her in the bed.  He didn’t bother checking on her since he knew she’d wake up, because she didn’t sleep well without him beside her.  She’d told him enough times for that particular message to get through.  And lately, what with the nausea finally subsiding – at least at night – she needed all the sleep she could get.    
  
The water was warm, bordering on hot, and Spike relished the feel of it against his cool skin.  This, living here with Buffy, was just short of heaven.  He didn’t fool himself into believing that he deserved one moment of this, though he thanked whatever power that had taken pity on a vampire like him and bestowed this amazing gift.    
  
He padded on silent feet the short distance to the bed, his eyes focused on Buffy’s sleeping body.  She was a miracle.  _His_ miracle.  
  
Crawling under the covers, Spike settled in behind her, pulling her tight into his embrace.  He dropped a kiss just behind her ear, whispered softly against her skin of his love and curled his hand over her slightly distended belly.  She murmured something then settled back into slumber.  He closed his eyes and let his body drift into sleep.  
  
 _Life is pretty damn good.  
_  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
 _He was lying on the ground, beaten nearly to death.  His eyes were swollen shut and one of his arms was hanging, broken just below the elbow.  Blood seeped sluggishly from various cuts and abrasions, and though he could hear the sound of weeping, Spike couldn’t seem to find who was crying.   The peculiar grit of asphalt and concrete dug into the exposed part of his skin, and every muscle in his upper body ached.  
  
A groan rent the air.  
  
“I could never be your girl.”  
  
His brain shut down.  
  
_  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
 _Every inch of him ached.  There was blood in his mouth, trickling down his arms.   His leg muscles were  taut, yet he could barely stand on his own two feet.  The grit of  sand was beneath his bare feet, and he could only make out the jagged walls of caves surrounding him in the dark torchlight.  
  
The smell of magic was heavy in the air.  Spike grimaced, then straightened his back.  Bravado and loyalty warred in his mind.  He had to do this. . .  For her.  “So you just bring it on.  Bring on the whole – Bloody hell!”  
  
Skittering, chittering, large black beetles covered every inch of him.  Spike groaned and growled, then everything went black.  
  
_  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
 _The cement block was smooth beneath his fingers.  He didn’t know. . . why he was here, or when.  Everything bled together in his jumbled brain.  The smell of blood surrounded him, the cries of victims echoing in his head.  He cowered against the wall, hiding from his memories.  
  
“There’s evil.  Down here.  Right here.  I’m a bad man.  William’s a bad man.  I hurt the girl.”  
  
Wetness dripped down his cheeks and the whimpers echoed.  His chest ached.  
  
Buffy’s scent drifted to his nose and Spike closed his eyes, hiding from her.  “I hurt the girl.”  
  
His brain shut down._  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
 _He was ranting, his mind raging.  Hamlet, I’m bloody Hamlet. . .  No, more the fool.  I’m the fool  in this little play.  Words spilled from his lips, flooding from the pain in his heart. . . his soul.  The ache was deep, too deep for mere words to ease.  He was out of his head.  
  
“Why does a man do what he mustn’t?  For her.  To be hers.  To be the kind of man who would nev – to be a man.”  
  
He couldn’t look at her.  Didn’t dare.  The sight of her hurt him, hurt his soul, hurt his eyes, because she looked at him. . . and never saw him.  Never understood.  Never wanted to understand.  “And she shall look on him with forgiveness and everybody will forgive and love… and he will be loved. So everything’s okay, right?”  
  
His arms embraced the pain.  His body embraced the pain.  His soul. . . his soul embraced the pain, hoping to wash away his sins.    
  
“Can we rest now?  Buffy, can we rest?”  
_  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
 _Light poured through, love. . . home.   Love so pure, so powerful it destroyed all that it touched.  It burned him from the inside, lighting him. . .  
  
“I want to see how it ends.”  
  
The light blinded him and all faded away.  
_  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
 _The images came faster behind his eyes, swirling, spinning faster and faster, until there was nothing but the whoosh of wind and the blurred vision of thousand of images.  Hundreds of visions of the past, thousand of images of  possible futures.    Faces he did not recognize, Angel, Drusilla, Buffy. . . Dawn. . . everything melded together until nothing made sense.  
  
And then it ceased.  
  
There was no movement, no motion, he was surrounded by nothingness. _   
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
 _Fading in, fading out.  Dark haired, long-legged bird, brains like a whip, sweet childish face.  Angel. . .  Angel?  Others unknown concerned.  Worried for him?  Dark spirit come to get him, use his soul to save it from torment.  Use his soul?  Not likely – **not bloody likely.**  
  
“I do deserve to go to hell. But not today.”  
  
Incorporeal flesh . . . disappearing over and over.  Unable to touch, unable to feel, to smell – to be.     
Spike sighed, resigning himself to his fate.  
_  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
 _“I **fought** for my soul. Went through the demon trials. Almost did me in a dozen times over, but I kept fighting. 'Cause I knew it was the right thing to do.”  
  
Fists and fangs, words thrown back and forth, anger, hatred, violence, love. . .  Was this really his?  Am I good enough?  Is this the right thing?  Got a soul . . .   
  
For her.  To be hers.  
  
Always about **her**._  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
 _  
Roaring, raging beasts surrounded them, the noise deafening.  Blood tracked slowly down his face, mixing with the cold rain.  No where to run.  Wouldn’t even if I could.  Made a promise.  Fight to the end.  Fight the good fight.  The right thing to do.  Save the day, save the girl. . . save the world.  
  
Always.  For her.  
  
She was the last thing he saw, the last thought in his mind, the last word on his lips.  
  
Rain beat down and the hordes of hell dimensions rose up at them.  
  
And it all faded away. . . _  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike jerked in his sleep, limbs twitching and spasming from the effects of his nightmares.  He rolled away from Buffy’s warmth, not wanting to disturb her slumber.  _Can’t . . . what the hell was that all about?_  
  
He scrubbed a hand over his face, focusing his bleary eyes on the digital numbers of the clock.  _Barely an hour’s worth of sleep?  Fuckin’ hell.  No more late night snacks of the chocolate and salt variety._  
  
Trying to shake off the after affects of his vivid nightmares, Spike pulled the blankets up around his shoulders, shivering uncontrollably.  Buffy rolled over, her arms circling around his waist, her face nuzzled up against his shoulder.  She murmured something soothing, then sleepily kissed the smooth muscle beneath her cheek.    
  
Still more asleep than awake, she rocked him in her arms, a low rolling humming emerging from her throat.  When the tension within him didn’t ease, Buffy swam closer to wakefulness.  “Bad dream?”  
  
“Could say that.”  His fingers meshed with hers, savoring the warmth of her touch.  
  
“Wanna talk about it?”  She continued to brush soft kisses over his back, her voice pitched as low as his.  “Might help you get back to sleep.”  
  
He rolled over, capturing her hands in his, bringing them up to his mouth.  Spike gently kissed her palms, curling her fingers to trap the emotions.  “Not sure it’ll help.”  
  
Spike stared at her for long moments, his eyes taking in all her features – the thick lashes covering her sleepy eyes, the quirky bump on her nose, the wide kissable lips, the lines of fatigue  – and knew he couldn’t burden her with his nightmares.  He rolled away from her, sitting up abruptly.  “No, don’t worry about it, sweetheart.  You go back to sleep.  ‘Ll be right as rain in a tick.”  
  
His retreat didn’t fool Buffy one bit.  She knew something was really bothering him and, unlike other times, he wasn’t immediately confiding in her.  That alone was enough to trigger her instincts.  “C’mon, Spike, what’s bothering you?”  
  
She pushed herself up on one arm, her free hand reaching around to grasp his biceps.  The muscle was tense and hard, and once she got a better look at him, she could see he was shaken.  “Hey, tell me.”  
  
He didn’t answer.  Buffy decided she wasn’t going to let him worry – she wasn’t going to call it brooding – about it in silence.  Something told her his reaction was because the nightmares were about them and she wondered if his dreams echoed hers.  “I had this dream once, just . . .  Well, just after.  And instead of what really happened, you finding me, in the dream I had to claw my way out alone.  When I got out, everything was blurry, but there was fighting and I saw myself, I guess now it must have been the bot, get torn apart by these demon bikers.  It was harsh and scary and I didn’t like it.”  
  
Spike’s muscles tightened considerably the longer she spoke, and Buffy knew she’d guessed correctly.  “Were you dreaming about us?”  
  
“Dunno, pet.  Could be.  Just got snippets of things.  Bare images of . . .” He tore himself from her grasp, his feet on the floor and shoulders hunched over, as if he wanted to stay and go at the same time.  “Wasn’t good, sweets.”  
  
Buffy shifted over on to her knees, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, holding him close.  His back was sleek and smooth, and it wasn’t hard to feel the tension coiled within him.  “What’s got you so rattled?”  
  
“Leave it, Slayer.”  There was an edge to his tone that Buffy didn’t like, and part of her bristled to hear it.  Another, bigger part of her realized just what it was.  He was lashing out because he was feeling vulnerable, so those dreams had to have been very bad.    
  
“Spike?  Don’t shut me out.”  She rested her chin on his shoulder, her cheek warming his.  “Tell me what it was.”  
  
“It was  – it was bad, kitten.”  He traced the lines of the hand she’d curled around his torso, then dropped his hand down to clutch at the edges of the mattress.  “Jus’ go back to sleep.”  
  
She huffed heavily, her breath warming him more.  “I can feel what it was, so there’s really no use hiding it from me.   I’ll probably have the same dreams if I try to go back to sleep now, anyway.”  
  
Buffy dropped a kiss on his shoulder.  “Don’t like it when you hide from me.”  
  
He could hear the pout, didn’t need to see it from the corner of his eye.  “You sure?  Not feelin’ up to sharin’ much.”    
  
“Yeah, I got that memo already.  So spill.”   Buffy dropped back, pulling him with her.  Her head hit the pillows and he rolled, so that his head was resting between her breasts.  
  
“Could stay like this all night.”  He grinned, eyeing the creamy mound in front of him.  He chuckled lowly when Buffy playfully whapped him.  “All right, woman.  No need to beat it out ‘f me.”  
  
They settled more comfortably against each other, arms and legs tangled together in one heap.  It was hard to distinguish where one started and the other ended, they were so close.  Once he was comfortable, Spike’s low voice began recounting the dreams.  
  
Halfway through, he could sense Buffy’s growing agitation, the increase of her heartbeat and the faint hint of salty tears giving her away.  Haltingly, he continued, hoping she would calm down, but by the end, she was sniffling hard, barely holding back the tears.    
  
“What’s wrong?”  Spike leaned up to look at her.  “Kitten?”  
  
“I know what was happening.  I’ve . . . I’ve been having the, well, not the same dreams, but I guess maybe not so different and they’re like part of your dreams.  So see?  I understand.”  
  
Spike fought the chuckle her babbling always induced.  “Not sure I’m following you ‘round that bend, sweets.  Care to try again?”  
  
She whined a little at him.  “Spike.”    
  
“What?”  
  
The look she gave him spoke volumes.  Spike caved, not really in the mood to spar with her, verbally or otherwise.  “I get it.”  
  
“What’s that you get?”  He pressed his lips against the hollow of her neck, angling his head up onto her shoulder.    
  
“You.  You’re such a dope sometimes.”  Before he could protest, Buffy covered his mouth with her hand.  “Just listen to me and stop playing stupid.”  
  
He smiled, and she could feel it against her palm, but she didn’t let that distract her.  “I think maybe the dreams are sort of like mine, only maybe we’re seeing, ah, dreaming different parts of things?  Like that first one you had – I think it was me.  The one hurting you.”  
  
“No.  I don’t believe that.  Don’t say that.”  Spike sat up, grabbing her arms.  “You don’t hurt the people you care about.”  
  
“Well, think about it.  If I came back and it was that way, and I thought everything was wrong and we were still together, only I . . .” Buffy shook her head, fighting tears that sprung up from nowhere.  “Spike, what if it all was wrong?  What if you weren’t there?  And what if everything was different?  Couldn’t it be like that?”  
  
Spike sat back, thinking hard.  What if he hadn’t been there?  What if Willow had managed to convince the others to bring Buffy back?  What if. . . there were so many what ifs that he almost couldn’t fathom the sheer number.  “Too many variables, sweetheart.  How could we be sharing the same dreams, hm?”   
  
It was the first time he could remember her turning a look like that on him.  “What’s that look for?”  
  
“You are a dope, Spike.”  Buffy rolled her eyes.  “Do you not get the whole joined together thing?”  
  
“You think. . .  You think because we’re mated that we’re sharin’ dreams?”  He scratched his scarred eyebrow with a thumb, rolling the possibility over in his mind.  “Could be. . . makes a bit of sense, yeah?”  
  
“Makes a lot of sense.  We’re sharing a lot of things, why not dreams?”  She shrugged.  “So these dreams are might-have-been visions.”  
  
“Christ.  Don’t really fancy Jacob Marley dancin’ around in my noggin.”    
  
She tried playing dumb, she really did.  Buffy quipped, “I thought that was a Jamaican beat I heard.”  
  
Spike rolled his eyes.  “I said Jacob, pet, not Bob.  An’ ‘sides, even if it was Jamaican, it’d still be a bit strange.”  
  
“Well, whichever Marley it is, the sharing thing still makes sense.”  Buffy reached up, pulling Spike closer.  
  
“So you really think that was you puttin’ the hurt on me in that first one?  What about the second? Or the third?”  
  
“I’m not sure about those, but I did have a nightmare where I faced evil Willow – and Tara was dead.”  Somehow they’d switched positions and now she was lying in his arms, her head resting just above his non-beating heart.    
  
“We already faced a version of an evil Willow.”  Spike idly played with the ends of her hair, his other hand cupping her rounded hip.  
  
“This one was major wiggy.  All black hair and eyes and veiny.  Really bad.”  She shivered a little and in response he pulled the blankets up a little higher, leaving nothing but her face exposed.  
  
“An’ the next couple?”  
  
She shivered again, making him realize it wasn’t the temperature that was causing it, it was her memories.  “I think. . .  I think you did something and went a little crazy.  I remember thinking in the dream that I didn’t want you near me, but at the same time I couldn’t stop myself because what you’d done for me was so huge, so big.  No one had ever done what you’d done for me.”  
  
Spike nodded slowly, recalling the emotional storm those particular vignettes evoked.  He’d been wracked by guilt, buffeted about by overwhelming memories, unable to make sense of anything at all.  Everything had seemed immediate, his turning, the people he’d drained, the lives he’d destroyed, and something so disastrous to Buffy that it all seemed to be happening at the same instant.  Choked by the mere memory of it, Spike dropped a kiss on Buffy’s head, hugging her close.  He finally managed to agree.  “Feels about right.”  
  
It was her turn to get emotional.  “That other one?  Where you described the light, the love?  I remember a dream where I watched you. . . I watched you. . .” She couldn’t continue, for the lump in her throat was so large she couldn’t swallow around it.  
  
“Disappear?”  He didn’t dare say it, feeling the depth of her emotions through their link.    
  
All Buffy could do was nod.  She’d had dreams of being in a strange place, crying her eyes out night after night.  Crying herself to sleep and wishing she had something to remember him by, some memento of him.   Except there had been nothing.  Nothing except a scar on her left hand, a burn mark that never faded . . .  
  
No matter where else she went, no matter who else she’d let herself love, that scar was always there.  He was always there.  And she never loved anyone else the way she’d loved him.  Only Buffy couldn’t put any of that into words, not while the tears were falling, pooling on his chest.  Not when the feelings overshadowed everything.    She shook her head, fighting the tears back.  She wasn’t going to dwell on the nightmares, neither his nor hers.  She was going to be grateful for what they had, for what they were to each other.  
  
“I don’t wanna think about what I would be without you.  I don’t care what the nightmares are telling us.  That’s not us.  Maybe it’s some other version of us, somewhere in some strange weirdly screwed up alternate universe, but that’s not **_us_**.  We are **_here_**.  Together.  And none of that stuff is gonna happen, because we’re different.”  
  
He didn’t respond, except to brush another kiss atop her head.  Spike was mulling over the dreams and contemplating her almost vehement denial that it couldn’t happen to them, because events had happened differently.   He believed her, knowing in his unbeating heart that she was right, although he couldn’t shake the feeling that those very events she was denying could have easily happened.  Very easily.  In truth those were the more likely because who would have believed she’d change her mind about him?  That she would trust him unequivocally with her sister, her life, her love?  That he’d be the one she’d chose above Angel?  The very idea of it would have been just a mere dream a year ago.  
  
Every time he thought of where he’d been – just a year ago – and compared it to where he was now, Spike marveled at the miracle of it all.  He’d never dreamed he or they would be where they were now.  Living in the same house, sharing a bed, their lives, and biggest miracle of all – bringing new life into the world.  He could barely wrap his brain around the magnitude of that.  And while Giles insisted he’d found no evidence of prophecies, Spike held a spark of hope deep inside that somewhere, somehow, all this had been preordained.  
  
They were supposed to be together.  They were fated.    
  
He couldn’t imagine his life without her, couldn’t imagine where he’d be, what he’d do, what he would be.  Without her, he was nothing, just another vampire in search of nothing. . .   
  
Two halves of a whole.    
  
There was light in his darkness and darkness in her light.   
  
“I love you.”  He wasn’t sure if he’d said it aloud until Buffy responded.  “Don’ – ‘m not sure where or what I’d be without you, but I do know this, when you’re gone, that’s it.  That’s the end for me.”  
  
“What if – promise me something, Spike.”  Buffy angled her head to look up at him, then pulled slightly away from him.  “Promise me that if I go and the babies are still small, you’ll stay and take care of them.  For me.  Please?”  
  
Her eyes were huge in her face, sparkling with the tears she’d been shedding on and off during their conversation.  Spike didn’t bother to hide that he couldn’t refuse those eyes, and he knew he never would.  Buffy was his world, his reason for going on.  She was the light in his darkness.  He started to promise, though the words caught in his throat.  He swallowed, nodding.  “Promise, kitten.”  
  
He didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was unlikely he’d live much longer than she would anyway.  He didn’t want her to focus on that.  Instead, Spike tilted her chin, tracing the curve of her lips with this thumb.   His lips followed, brushing over hers lightly.  “I love you, Buffy.  So much it hurts.”  
  
Buffy’s eyes drifted closed, hiding the onslaught of fresh tears.  “I know.  I love you too.”  
  
Her leg curled over his waist, her thigh nudging into him.  Spike ran his hand over her soft skin, pulling her closer.  Without much thought or effort, he slid into her depths and he rocked her slowly, thrusting up into her gently.  It was soft and slow and oh-so gentle, their lovemaking – erasing the bad dreams for both of them.  Release stole up on them languidly, the slow pulsing of her heartbeat setting the pace.  
  
Spike smiled into her hair, lazily reaching to angle her face up for his kiss.  “I do love you.”  
  
Buffy’s smile answered his and her eyes drifted closed.  Sleep settled over her once again, leaving Spike to guard against the nightmares.  
  
 _Don’t know what I’d be without you. . ._

**Author's Note:**

> Some lines are taken directly from the show transcripts. The quote and title are from one of my favorite songs – ever – and yeah, it may make me sentimental and whatnot, but honestly? I don’t much care. Every single time I hear it, even after hours of listening to it – the damn thing makes me cry. Sue me for being sentimental. This is also probably one of the greatest pop songs ever written – don’t believe me? – check out where it ranks in some of the polls. It also happens to be one of Paul McCartney’s favorite songs, and though I never thought I’d like anything about Macca, well, I have to agree with him. Words and music by Brian Wilson and Tony Asher, from the album Pet Sounds, released in 1966. (Sung by Carl Wilson (lead), Bruce Johnston (falsetto), and the bass parts were sung by Brian Wilson) So, here it is. Disclaimers prove I own nothing.


End file.
